


Integrity

by OrmondSacker



Series: The Lie Of Peace [2]
Category: Rogue One: A Star Wars Story (2016), Star Wars - All Media Types
Genre: Alternate Universe - Dark, Angst, Bounty Hunter Baze Malbus, Force Use, M/M, Sith, Sith AU, Sith Chirrut Îmwe, Unresolved Sexual Tension
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-03-23
Updated: 2017-03-23
Packaged: 2018-10-09 18:13:27
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,455
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/10418172
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/OrmondSacker/pseuds/OrmondSacker
Summary: All bounty hunter Baze Malbus wanted was a quiet drink to end his day. The last thing he expected was a mystery man with a job.





	

**Author's Note:**

> Inspired by eabevella's Sith Lord Chirrut/Bounty Hunter Baze Malbus fanart [here](https://luminousfinn.tumblr.com/post/158073263678/eabevella-i-just-thought-of-the-idea-of-mirror) and [here](https://luminousfinn.tumblr.com/post/158264102893/eabevella-sith-lord-and-bounty-hunter-au). I have this idea that my Chirrut looks more or less like [this](http://luminousfinn.tumblr.com/image/158112876863).
> 
> Betaed by JuniorWoofles.

The moment Baze lays eyes on the man with the short, black hair who just stepped into the cantina he feels the small hairs on the back of his neck stand on end and his mouth fill with the taste of metal. 

There is nothing about his physical appearance that should signal that kind of danger. Dressed in plain black tunic, pants and boots, tapping the floor in front of him with his staff, the man should be giving off vibes of prey, not predator. But the hairs on the back of Baze's neck refuse to go down and he's learned to trusts his instincts; he wouldn't have survived as a bounty hunter for nearly 20 years if they hadn't been reliable. 

The man stops five steps inside the door, tilting his head as if listening for something. A grin suddenly breaks out on his face, transforming the hard features of his face into something that Baze finds even more terrifying. It is not a smile meant to put anyone at ease. 

With a grace and certainty Baze has never witnessed in a seeing person, much less a blind one, the man makes his way across the crowded cantina floor, straight to the bar. And to Baze. 

He takes up position right next to him. 

"What can I get you?" The Zabrak bartender gruffly asks him. 

"You can get my friend here whatever he would like," the stranger says, nodding towards Baze. 

"I'm not his friend," Baze growls. Men like the stranger are dangerous and even more dangerous to be near. Baze might enjoy gambling, there is no bounty hunter in the galaxy who doesn't, the very profession has a deep element of chance and risk but he has never been suicidal. 

The man turns to look at him. His eyes are milky blue, yet to Baze they seem to hold a void darker than a black hole and seem to be just as inescapable. 

"You could be," he says congenially. 

Baze violently shakes his head, torn between running away and letting himself fall into the blue. 

"Men like you don't have friends." 

"You don't know me." 

"I know men like you." 

The stranger smiles again, a small curve of his lips this time that makes the perfection of his cupid's bow stand out even more, yet it is still very alarming. Baze isn't sure if the frisson in his veins is fear or lust. 

"I assure you, Baze Malbus, you know no one like me." 

"You seem to have the advantage on me since you know my name and I don't know yours." 

"My preferred position," the stranger says playfully and this time Baze is sure what the frisson is, lust. With a healthy dose of fear in the mix, but still mostly lust. 

Those eyes seem to pull him in further and it takes every bit of willpower that Baze has to tear his gaze away from them. The stranger gives a surprised start at that and while he's quick to cover it with another of those smiles Baze still manages to catch it. 

_ Didn't think I could do that, did you? _

Knowing that the man can be surprised makes Baze feels slightly less out of his depth. 

"So you are every bit as formidable as your reputation promised. That's good." 

"Why?" Baze asks. Survival instincts tells him to run, to leave this instant and never look back, but something else – that dark and empty place in his heart – is begging him to stay. It's been awhile since he last listened to it but there is something about this man. 

"Why does one usually look for a bounty hunter?" 

"If you're here on business let's get a private room and talk business." 

Baze empties his drink and gets up from his seat, possessed by a sudden need to move, to create some space from this man with his odd eyes and a smile that is as lovely as it is deadly and who stands enough close so Baze can feel the heat coming off his body. 

Baze signals the bartender for use of one of the private back rooms. The Zabrak holds up three fingers. Room 3 is available then. He walks off, leaving the stranger to follow on his own if he can. 

One of the advantages of a private room is that each comes with its own small bar, the use of it included in the price, which is good because right now Baze feels in need of a very stiff drink.  

His mystery patron steps inside as he's rooting through the bar. So he managed then. 

"Want one?" he asks him, holding up the bottle in his hand after he's poured himself one. 

"What is it?" 

Baze takes a second look at it. All he had cared about was the strong smell of alcohol. 

"It's... green," he finally answers. 

"Would it make you more comfortable around me if I did?" the other man asks. He's made his way to the center table, pulled out a chair and sits on it with one ankle perched on the knee. 

"I don't think anything could make me feel comfortable around you. Nor do I think you want me to be. You like making people feel off kilter, don't you?" Baze says sipping the drink and nearly choking. It is even stronger than he thought it would be. 

The man smiles again and Baze notices how the grin makes the corners of his eyes crinkle, the lines there deepening. It makes his hands ache to reach out and touch them, feel the creases beneath his fingertips. 

_ Oh no. No, no, no. Bad idea. Touching a man like this is sure to get him burned. _ Yet Baze Malbus always did enjoy dancing with fire and this man is an inferno. It is written all over those blind, all seeing eyes. 

"It does make it easier to tell what a person is made of," the stranger answers. 

"You said you wanted to hire me. What's the job?" 

There's a shift in the air, as if it's turning heavy, pushing against Baze, weighing him down. He's sure it’s the stranger's doing. Hell if he knows how or what, but it's sure to be him. Baze grits his teeth and grabs on to the anger in his heart, the anger that kept him alive on Jedha, on Umbra, on Malastare, on every Force forsaken planet that has tried to kill him, and fights against whatever this is with every fiber of himself. 

The stranger seems puzzled and a little surprised. The unseeing eyes are turned towards Baze, bearing down on him. The weight in Baze's mind getting heavier and heavier, sweat beginning to form under his arms and trickle down his back. 

"You can cut out whatever the hell it is you're doing," Baze snarls between gritted teeth. "It's not going to get you what you want." 

"And what is that?" the man asks in a nonchalance voice. 

"Me. You want me, you pay me. That's how I work. You can't handle that, leave." 

"How long do you think you can hold out?" 

"Long enough that one of us will be dead if you keep this up." 

"And that might be you." 

Baze shrugs with considerable effort. "Dying is always a possibility in my job. But it'll be on my terms. I'd rather die on them than live on my knees." 

The weight vanishes as abruptly as it came, as Baze strangles a gasp of relief. 

"You're even  _ more _ impressive that your reputation suggests. That makes you a dangerous man, Baze Malbus." 

"I think you enjoy dangerous men." Baze only means the words as a comeback, a way to keep some measure of even ground between them, but the stranger throws back his head and laughs wholeheartedly. Baze finds the sound of it equal parts enchanting and terrifying. 

"It seems we have taken each other's measure, my friend," the man says when he finally stops. 

"I told you I'm not your friend." 

"And I said you could be." 

The words hang in the silence between them. Getting close to this man isn't wise, Baze knows that, but he abandoned wisdom years ago. And that little smile, just a tilt of the man's lips, is oh so alluring. 

Baze mentally shakes himself. He's not here to get laid. 

"What's the job?" he asks gruffly. 

The man tilts his head, listening again. 

"You want to talk business? Okay, business it is."' 

The man reaches inside his tunic and Baze reflexively drops his hand to the blaster he carries at his side. His move causes the man to smile again, though how the hell he could ever tell that Baze moved in any way is beyond him. When the hand comes out there's a datachip between his fingers. Rising gracefully to his feet the man crosses the space between them and holds it out towards Baze. 

Baze looks at the hand. There are calluses on the fingers from weapons use, scabs on the knuckles and healed cuts on the back. The calluses could come from training, but scabs and cuts like these, those only came from fights of life and death. This is the hand of a fighter, a warrior and a survivor. Baze wonders what it would feel like against the skin of his chest. 

"This contains all the information you need on your target as well as a suggestion for a fee." 

"A suggestion?" 

"I think you will find my suggestion adequate, though you may name a different price if you wish." 

Baze stares suspiciously at him. 

"You'd allow me to name my own price? You're either very generous or very underhanded, either way it's a very stupid thing to do." 

"How so?" 

"Because you're either asking me to filch your pockets for whatever I see fit, which given the moral fiber of bounty hunters in general is a foolish thing to allow. Or, what seems more likely, you don't intended to honor your side of the deal at all, but you're giving that away with this unaccustomed generosity. And in both cases I'd be an even bigger fool to accept this." 

He takes the hand holding the datachip, rising it to underline his point. It's warm and firm in his own. 

"Do I strike you as a foolish man, Baze Malbus?" 

"No. But I've been know to make errors in judgment." 

"A man who will openly admit his shortcomings is a rare man indeed." 

"It's hardly any great secret, we all make mistakes. And you made one in thinking I'd accept a dodgy contract." 

The man smiles again, impressed.  

How can one person have so many different smiles? Dangerous, placid, amused; such a small move of his lips yet so telling. And damn him for it. Blind or not he must know how his mouth looks and what effect it would be likely to have on people. Baze smiles a wry smile of his own; that's probably why the bastard is doing it. 

"Your suspicions are understandable, but unfounded," he replies. "You'll figure out why when you read who the target is. You needn't worry, I will meet your price. And I know I have not misjudged you badly enough that you will take unfair advantage of my generosity." 

Baze is tempted, more for the mystery than anything else, or so he tells himself. It certainly has nothing to do with clouded eyes that seem to see more than humanly possible. 

"Dead or alive?" 

An amused snort follows this question. 

"I doubt even you could take this target alive and bring it in. Fortunately for you, dead quite suffices for me." 

Baze nods but doesn't take the datachip, though he still has hold on the stranger's hand. 

"That leaves only one thing. Your name. I don't work for people with no name." 

"It's on the chip," the man says affably. "Along with information on how to contact me once the job is done." 

"That might be, but I'd much rather that you tell me." 

Another flitter of a smile. 

"Chirrut Îmwe." 

"Sounds Jedhan," Baze says as he takes the datachip, finally letting go of the hand with an odd sense of loss. 

"It is," Îmwe says. 

He turns and almost gets to the door before Baze collects himself enough to ask, "Are  _ you _ ?" Yes the man speaks Basic with an accent, but one that is not uncommon here in the Outer Rim. he could be Jedhan, or from a couple of dozen other planets that Baze can think of. Plus a number of ones he might never have heard of.

The man stops, half turns towards Baze and smiles one of those brilliant and disturbing smiles. "Fill the contract and perhaps I'll tell you. I did after all say you could name your price." 

With those words, he's gone and Baze is alone with his drink and the datachip in his hand. Sipping the drink, letting the alcohol sear his throat, he turns the datachip over between his fingers as he studies it. 

He's never accepted a contract in this fashion before, with so little prior knowledge. Of course Baze hasn't officially accepted it quite yet, there is no signed agreement and he didn't actually say yes. If Îmwe is fool enough to leave him with information like this in written form, without securing a solid promise, that's his mistake and if Baze decides to drop the whole thing the man only has himself to blame for his foolishness. 

Baze pockets the datachip and drains his glass. Time to get back to his ship, find a secure datapad and find out what the hell this mystery job is.  

His hand finds its way into his pocket to brush against the datachip one more time before he leaves the room. Maybe it is all in his mind, or perhaps it is some remnant of his Guardian training, but Baze can almost feel his fate coalesce around the tiny piece of metal and silicate. For a second he almost pulls it back out and crushes it in his fist then reconsiders and pushes it further down into the pocket, ensuring it remains safe. 

Whether he wants to or not he feels himself drawn into the orbit of a man with eyes the color of the clouded sky and a pull like that of an event horizon. There are many places in the galaxy that would be better for him to be in but few he suspects that would be more interesting. In a galaxy that holds neither kindness nor compassion, Baze Malbus will settle for having an interesting life, though he knows it might lead him to an early grave. 

**Author's Note:**

> Yes I posted this as part of a series and yes I claim that the series is done though there is only this one fic, that's because I'm not sure how much else I will write for this AU though I will eventually post all the ton of worldbuilding I've done for it. That way another writer might benefit from it.  
> I'm spending far too much time thinking about a universe I'm not really writing for, but what the hell, it's fun. I entirely blame Yi.


End file.
